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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27301804">The Lady of the Lake</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_emmajones/pseuds/captain_emmajones'>captain_emmajones</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Once Upon a Time (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Angst, Character Turned Into a Ghost, F/M, Halloween 2020, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by The Haunting of Bly Manor, but the end is kind of hopeful?, fair warning this is sad, ghost au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:21:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,490</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27301804</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_emmajones/pseuds/captain_emmajones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the Haunting of Bly Manor (So spoilers ahead, beware!). Ghost!Emma haunts Mills Manor, and Killian only wishes she would haunt him instead. </p><p>"And each night, again and again, she would wake.</p><p>She would walk. </p><p>She would sleep. </p><p>And she would forget. </p><p>Until there wasn’t anything else to forget, until she wasn’t a person anymore -- surely a person would have a face -- until she was only a vague feeling, a fleeting, dripping shadow, walking through the night, muddy footprints dropped behind her, and water, so much water, wishing that something would happen -- only it never would."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Hook | Killian Jones &amp; Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Lady of the Lake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hiii! </p><p>It's been so long. Hope you are all alright. </p><p>Soooo, about this, fair warning: the Haunting of Bly Manor emotionally destroyed me. This is my way of coping. (If you haven't watched it, WATCH IT.) </p><p>Let me know if you're intrigued and would like to read more of this verse, I might fuck around and actually write a MC ;)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>out of the lake, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and dress them in warm clothes again. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Richard Siken. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <span>And each night, tirelessly, endlessly, she would wake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She would walk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She would sleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she would forget. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Until, until...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time erased everything. Time erased her memories, erased him, erased the very chore of her existence, but she no longer was, so how could she have mind? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She let herself sink into oblivion, because it meant he was safe. They were all safe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She let water fill her lungs, she let the lake wrap its ice-cold arms around her and for a time she wished they were his, for a time she did not forget until,... until she forgot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And each night, again and again, she would wake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She would walk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She would sleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she would forget. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Until there wasn’t anything else to forget, until she wasn’t a person anymore -- surely a person would have a face -- until she was only a vague feeling, a fleeting, dripping shadow, walking through the night, muddy footprints dropped behind her, and water, so much water, wishing that something would happen -- only it never would. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she didn’t mind. She had forgotten she was waiting. She just stood there, by his workshop, without seeing the empty pots, without hearing the night’s owls, until her stiff, dripping legs moved again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she would dive into the frozen, frozen lake, and she would forget. Forget it all. Forget </span>
  <em>
    <span>them </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she would wake. She would walk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Up to the same room, every night, to the bed without sheets and the mirror -- and for a time she did not forget how frightened she was, of this goddamn mirror, of her reflection, of seeing</span>
  <em>
    <span> him</span>
  </em>
  <span> and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- and this room that was so empty, so empty and she wondered if it had always been. But soon enough, she ceased wondering. She forgot to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she would go down the corridor, through the garden, to the moon flowers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she would stand there until some kind of recollection would sink into her mind. Her eyes would widen. And then, she would remember. It would be a wave of warmth suddenly overflowing her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His blue eyes. The warmth of his arms. His voice. She would remember -- </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And if you can’t feel anything, then I will feel for the both of us.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-- and then, just like that, she would forget. Endlessly. Tirelessly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Because see, Swan, moonflowers only bloom once. And then they die. But they are worth the trouble. And sometimes, if you are lucky enough, you find someone worth the trouble, too.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And each night, tirelessly, endlessly, he would fill his sinks with water, would fill his bathtub to the brim, would crack his front door open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So that she would know that it was okay for her to step in, that he wouldn’t mind the muddy trails and the drenched carpets, so that she would know that he was waiting for her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s just water, love. It’s easy to clean up.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he would sleep, crouched on a chair, in front of his door, just in case, just in case--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he would forget. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That she was gone. That she wouldn’t come back, ever. That their love story was nothing more than a ghost story now -- </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he would wake. And he would remember. And he would walk, among the livings, only he died when she surrendered herself to the lake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> -- oh, cross that actually. That’s utterly wrong. Those are sadness and anger and grief speaking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course their love story was more than a simple ghost story. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just wished...He just wished she had taken him down with her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Down in the lake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just wished she had offered him this last cold embrace, just wished she had allowed him to rest by her side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t mind the cold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So long as her hand remained firmly clasped in his. As it had been. As it should be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only it wasn’t anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One morning, one fine morning, he had woken up. But she had already walked, she had already walked out of their room, out of his life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had only written him a note. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she had walked, she had walked without him, to the lake, and he had imagined her hair floating in the water, golden threads dancing amidst a grey pool, he had imagined her lungs filling with water, as she had surrendered herself, as she had saved them all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he had known, that it was all over, all over, that she was gone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The beast lives in me, Killian,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had said, at the beginning, only it was the end, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“and she will come to fetch me. I know it. I can feel her inside of me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he had wanted to promise her that they had time, more time, and he had said: </span>
  <em>
    <span>“One day at a time, my love. We will fight the beast together. But for now, we have today.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>And he had squeezed her hand thinking perhaps he could hold onto her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she had smiled, and he had known that when the time came, she would fight the beast alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wouldn’t drag him down with her, no matter how loudly he would scream, no matter how long he would weep for her to come back, she would do what was right.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I cannot risk losing you, Killian. I </span>
  </em>
  <span>cannot </span>
  <em>
    <span>lose you.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thus, after all these years, he had driven back to Mills manor, to this cursed place, and he had walked back to the lake. To see her. One last time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had plunged, dived, rushed to her, as the cold had bitten his skin and slashed his heart open. Wishing he could walk with her, wishing he could sleep, wishing he could forget. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You don’t get to choose who lives and who dies, do you, Swan?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“IT’S ME. IT’S YOU. IT’S US,” he had screamed, down in the lake, water filling his lungs and burning his eyes, only he wasn’t screaming because how could you scream with this much water in your mouth? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had screamed the same words he had heard her howl, years ago, when she had saved them all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she had taken the beast inside of her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But this time she was the beast and he couldn’t take her in. She wouldn’t let him.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“DRAG ME DOWN WITH YOU,” he had yelled some more, only in his heart, on seeing nothing, on seeing her pale, pale, moon face, down in the lake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hair was spiraling around her peaceful features, just like he had imagined it would. She was still her. Her eyes were open, but she wouldn’t blink, wouldn’t move an inch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And in that gesture she wouldn’t initiate, in the fingers she did not stretch to hold his hand, he knew. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That she wouldn’t drag him down. That she would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>drag him down. Not now, not ever. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The lady of the lake would never drag anyone down with her again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that doesn’t mean he stopped waiting for her. Doesn’t mean he stopped filling his sinks and his bathtub and quit searching for her smiling eyes in the quivering water, for a sparkle of green and gold, doesn’t mean he closed his door and went to bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat on that very same chair, in front of his open door, and he waited. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And just as his eyelids became too heavy for him to keep his eyes open, just as he fell into a deep slumber, there was a cold draught that gently shut his door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes flickered open at the noise, for one second, </span>
  <em>
    <span>could it be…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then Morpheus’ arms hugged him tighter and there wasn’t an inch of willpower left in him to wonder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, a small unconscious smile stretched his lips and a whisper escaped his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Swan…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence. He was now sound asleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And if you were to gaze into his window, innocently of course, as every good neighbor does at midnight when the moon is their only companion, well perhaps you’d see the blonde woman that tucked a blanket under his chin and kissed his forehead, and you’d think that was quite odd -- considering Killian Jones lived alone -- but then you’d shake your head and stopped thinking about it at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>And you’d blink back to see nothing but darkness in your neighbor’s flat, although you could have sworn there had been a humming light just a second ago, darkness everywhere, and perhaps a shiver would even shake your spine, and in another blink you’d think you saw a smiling face in the window pane, green eyes and blonde hair but</span> <b><em>it couldn’t be</em></b> <span>so you stopped thinking about it and you stopped looking into other people’s windows -- because that was actually quite rude, now, wasn’t it? </span><br/><br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ngl this was pretty fun to write!! Hope you liked it &lt;3</p><p>Much love, </p><p>Amy.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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